


Just Touch Me, Please

by nazgularepeopletoo



Series: Just, Please [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Seemingly one sided attraction, Strange use of voicemail, Wesley is desperate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 05:45:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8274958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nazgularepeopletoo/pseuds/nazgularepeopletoo
Summary: If it was dark enough, he could pretend that he wasn’t alone. Wesley struggles with his feelings and the quiet of dark nights.





	

If it was dark enough, he could pretend that he wasn’t alone. If he closed his eyes it usually was… Adequate enough. It was easy to imagine someone else was touching him, running their hands down his chest and sides. It was easy to imagine the hand tangled in his hair wasn’t his own. It was easy to imagine that the pressure on him,  _ in _ him, was someone else, expertly bringing him to his release. 

But the silence was impossible to ignore. Wesley was a quiet person in general, but he was nearly silent when facing intimacy, and he hated it. He hated the soft, breathy groans that barely broke into the space. He hated not being able to hear someone else’s breaths, their moans when they touched him and he touched them back. 

He had made the mistake of inviting Francis into his bed once, when he felt he was drowning. It wasn’t that it was bad, no, it was that the man was loud. His cries and moans and, god help him, his whimpers. Every night since then had been torture. He couldn’t sleep in the quiet so he had put on the radio, but it wasn’t right. It kept him awake, kept his mind busy. He needed to fill the space with a body, a person. 

A person like Wilson Fisk. 

If Wesley was honest with himself, he was in love. He knew it, but he couldn’t let it interfere with the decidedly delicate relationship he shared with his employer. There was a small chance that Fisk already knew, of course, and was waiting for a reason to drag it out in the open. As it was, the burning affection just made him more loyal, more eager to please, more willing to do whatever it took to keep Fisk happy. 

All of this was running through Wesley’s head as he sat up and reached for his phone before pausing. What was his plan here? He could call Francis; get the smaller man more attached and loyal (like he was to Fisk, a small part of him snarked). That really was  _ not _ something that he wanted to deal with in the long run he decided. He had enough trouble with Francis’ affections as it was. He would have to talk to him about that in the morning.

Very suddenly, he wanted to hear his employers voice. Before he could stop himself, he had snatched up the phone and dialed the number, waiting tensely as it rang. It went to voicemail, much to Wesley’s relief. Not only would he not have to explain himself this early in the morning, but he got to hear fisk’s voice, soft and low. The call went to voicemail, and he breathed a sigh of relief as Fisk’s soft voice filtered into his ear, apologising for not being able to take the call. He savoured the sound, closing his eyes to focus more directly on it. 

He left the line open for a few moments after the beep faded away and then he hung up. After a second he dared to dial again, spreading his legs beneath the sheets. Blessedly it went to voicemail again, and once Fisk started talking, he was lost. He slid a hand down his chest, lightly digging his nails into the flesh. He let the sound of Fisk’s voice overtake everything as he wrapped his hand around himself, squeezing gently. The message wasn’t long, but it was enough. Other than having to bite back a moan at the beep, it was perfect. Once he set aside the phone, his mind was still echoing words back to him. 

  
He wanted it to last, he really did, but it had been so quiet for so long that his hand worked fast, his other gripping the sheets as breathy moans were drug out of his throat. It wasn’t long until the hiss that marked his release invaded the dark, leaving him a boneless mess on the bed. Slowly, he sat up, gathering up the stained sheets and set about cleaning himself up. Stifling a yawn, he opted out of a shower, choosing instead to ruin a towel. When he was done, he crawled into bed, exhausted and satisfied for the first time in weeks. 


End file.
